


The Reaper Comes

by 3KeeKee0



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, BAMF Dean Winchester, But that is later, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Dark Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Will Do Anything for Sam Winchester, Dean and Finnick are friend, District 9 (Hunger Games), Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Gen, Overprotective Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Rating May Change, Swearing, they just get along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28682472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3KeeKee0/pseuds/3KeeKee0
Summary: The Reaper comes as silent as the night, picking off those who don't hear him one by one.“Don’t be afraid.”“You took his head off!”“I know, but there’s no need to worry, you’ll get to keep yours.”_______After volunteering for the 66th Hunger Games, Dean Winchester will stop at nothing to get back to his family.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18





	1. Good Deeds May Hurt, But That Doesn't Mean They're Not Right

Under the sweltering heat of the sun, Dean Winchester slaved away. He could hear workers to his right and left slicing away at the stalks. The sound of the scythes connecting with the crop calming his nerves.

Today was the day. It was the day of the reaping. 

Dean cut at the grain in front of him continuing the harvest. There was always more grain to harvest, and it was always the same process. This,  _ this,  _ was comfort. This was monotony at its finest. The thought that there were always more crops to harvest, and this time tomorrow, Dean could be out here doing the exact same thing tomorrow and the next day.

This is what Dean needed to stay grounded. A constant in the face of his world turning on its head. Today might be his last day in nine, but nothing would stop him from making it seem like every other.

He had tried to stay home with his brother, Sam, this morning, to comfort him. He had done pretty well for about half an hour or so. However, the thought that not only was Dean’s name in that stupid bowl sixteen times, but _Sam’s_ was in there once now too was suffocating Dean. He had to get out, so he did what he does every year and came out to the fields and _worked._ He worked harder than anyone else out there. He worked with purpose, because he wanted to- no _needed_ - to work. He needed to work until there were no more crops to harvest, until his arms fell off from being overused, until the impossibly high grain quota was impossibly met.

So he worked and continued to drive himself into the ground, cause he’d be damned if he couldn’t forget about the stupid reaping for a few fucking hours.

And when a familiar voice called out to him, Dean knew it was time. 

“Dean.” 

“Yes, Cas?” he asked, not bothering to look up. He had work to do.

“Dean it is time to go.” Dean sighed and tucked his scythe away.

“Fine.”

Dean stood up, looking at his best friend for the first time that day. Castiel Novak, or Cas, was dressed in his nicest clothes and staring at his friend with a half disappointed look.

“Dean, I thought we talked about this. You were supposed to spend the morning with Sam.”

“Yeah, well I need to cope too. Anna had just shown up and they were keeping each other distracted well enough, and I-. I couldn’t be there any more Cas. I couldn’t think of him getting picked. So I came to work.”

“Obviously.” Cas gestured to the harvested grain bin that was overflowing with Dean’s work. “You’re going to be getting a lot of thanks from a lot of people.”

“They can thank me by taking my brother’s name out of that lottery of death.”

“Dean…”

“I know it will never happen, but may as well say it. Maybe the universe likes me and will grant my wish.” Dean thought of all the bad luck that he’d ever had. The time he and Cas were walking home from school and Dean stepped on a ball that just happened to be rolling by at the time, and in the process of trying to break the fall, Dean broke his arm. When he was working in the fields and the guy who was at least ten feet away from him managed to stab him with his scythe. All the different times where Dean somehow got sick from a kid that he didn’t share a single class with. 

“Who am I kidding! The universe fucking hates me. The only bullshit she’s got left to pull is to  _ actually  _ draw my brother’s name out of that bowl!”

“Dean, don’t think like that. You and Sam should be fine.”

“Only Sam and I?”

Castiel heaved a sigh. “I wish I could tell you that I will be fine, but I cannot. Dean, you and I both know that there is a large chance of my name being drawn today.”

Dean did know. Cas had a big family with a lot of mouths to feed. There were only a few ways to get the food needed for seven other growing children. Castiel’s mom worked herself to the bone trying to put food on the table, but it was never enough. The Novak's father had passed a few years prior and with him gone someone needed to start working. That someone was Cas.

Cas was the eldest and saw it as his responsibility to make sure that everyone  _ always  _ had something to eat, even if that meant he didn’t get a meal. There had been a few times where Dean had to drag Cas to his house to make sure he got a “good” meal. They didn’t have much to offer, but something was better than nothing.

Dean knew Cas was also worried. This was the first year one of his siblings could be reaped along with him. Anna had just turned twelve alongside Sam, but her name was in there three times. When Cas had found out she had taken tesserae he was furious, and to be honest, so was Dean. Anna was a little sister to him, and her putting herself a more risk was not okay in Dean’s book.

“Hey, let’s get going before some peacekeeper sees us and gets pissed that we aren’t there already.”   
  
Cas gave a nod in response.

_______

Mayor Wellflake, a small man with a weak appearance, stood in front of the microphone reading the story everyone knew. The districts rebelled, the capitol won, and now the children of the districts were forced to brutally kill each other in an arena.

Dean looked around as his mind wandered. He spotted Sam in the twelve year old section standing the closest to the center aisle as he could. Anna was doing the same just across from him. Dean assumed it was some sort form of comfort. Finally, the mayor got around to reading off the list of previous victors. There were only two. One a girl, Chrysanthe Hill, and the other a boy, Archer Wildpath. Both were in their mid to late forties by now. District nine never had much luck when it came to winning. 

“And now, please welcome Tiberius Coldwell.” Somehow these words from the mayor broke through Dean’s stupor.

Tiberius, the district escort, jumped around on stage in excitement. He had been “promoted” to district nine this year. Not that it was much of an accomplishment, but considering district twelve was his last assignment, nine had to be a step up.

“Happy Hunger Games!” he cheered, “And may the odds be  _ ever  _ in your favor!”

Dean wants to groan at that. The odds were  _ never  _ in their favor. Dean stole a glance at the dark haired boy next to him. Especially not Cas. 

“As always, ladies first!” 

Tiberius walked over to the girls’ bowl. Dean saw Cas tense out of the corner of his eye. A Green dyed hand dipped into the slips below. He spun his hand around for a moment before finally picking one slip and walking back to the podium.

“Anna Novak.” 

The name rings throughout the square. Dean turned to Cas when he heard a gasp. Tears were streaming down the boy’s face, his hand in front of his mouth. In that moment, Dean wished nothing more than to save that little girl.

He could see Anna slowly detach herself from her group and start to take tentative steps toward the stage. Apparently this scared little girl wasn’t moving fast enough for the peacekeepers and one of them shoved her forward onto the stage.

Tiberius smiled down at her once she stood next to him. He turned to face the crowd. “Any volunteers?” he asked. 

Solemn faces stare back at him. She was only twelve years old, a  _ child.  _

_ Please,  _ Dean thinks,  _ Please, someone volunteer for her.  _

But no one does, and what can Dean expect from a group full of strangers? That a girl randomly decides she is okay with suicide and volunteer to go in Anna’s place? No, they can feel bad that a twelve year old was picked, but no one would do anything about it.

“Okay then, onto the boys.” Tiberius repeats the same sickening process of picking a slip from the bowl. As he’s unfolding it Dean feels as if he’s going to be sick, because on that slip could be his name, it could be  _ Sam’s  _ name.

Finally, Tiberius gets the slip open and reads the name there. “Castiel Novak.”

Dean thought he had felt emotional distress the day his mom died in a house fire, but he was  _ wrong.  _ He felt like he’d received a punch to the gut. Not only was Anna going to the capital to possibly die, but so was Cas,  _ his best friend.  _ Cas started to move away from him, obviously on auto pilot. 

_ No, it couldn’t be,  _ he thought. Dean had known that Cas might be chosen, but that certainly didn’t prepare him to face reality. He turned to look at their mother when she gave out a heartbreaking cry. Her two eldest were going into the arena which meant that one was coming back in a box for sure, maybe two.

Cas was going into the arena, and Dean would probably never see him again. The only friend that Dean had. The kid who had stuck with him through everything. The kid that was there to help him feed and comfort Sammy when his dad was too drunk to do so himself. The kid the Dean always defended from bullies. That kid, Cas. Cas was going to have to fight and maybe  _ kill  _ his little sister in order to get out of that arena alive. Dean knew that he’d never do that. He would much sooner be killed by a nest of tracker jackers.

When Castiel was standing on stage next to his sister Dean thought of how  _ sick  _ this was. Cas was going to have to fight his little sister, and there was nothing he could do. Then the golden question flowed through Tiberius' lips.

“Volunteers?”

That’s when Dean remembered. There  _ was  _ something he could do, and this was it. He took a deep breath steeling himself as he stepped into the aisle.

“I volunteer as tribute.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my story! I'm excited for this one! I was wondering if anyone would be willing to be my beta reader as I am in the market and want to try and make this story the best it can be. If you are willing drop a comment below!


	2. Decisions Decisions All of Them Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean decides what he needs to do.

Castiel looked at Dean with anguish.

“Dean! No!”

But it was too late. Peacekeepers were already escorting Cas off stage and Dean on. Cas struggled against them trying to run to Dean and do something. Dean couldn’t volunteer for him. He wouldn’t allow it.

Dean watched as his best friend struggled against the men carrying him away as he stepped onto the stage. Dean knew all he would see on Sam’s face was heartbreak and tragedy, so he avoided the kid's gaze. Dean had to appear strong right now. He could not let the nation think he was weak. In true Winchester fashion, Dean shoved down his hurt and slipped on his mask, the mask that made the world think he knew what he was doing.

He barely had a second on stage before the microphone was shoved in his face.

“What’s your name?” Tiberius asked.

“Dean Winchester.” His voice echoes flat and emotionless.

“Tell me, Dean, why did you volunteer? Were you planning on it?”

Dean’s mind raced. If he answered with the truth he’d sound too sentimental. He’d be a target. But, if he answered with ‘because I can win,’ the other tributes might worry. He’d again be a target. He couldn’t be a target, not if he wanted to make it home. A half-truth was in order then.

“I wasn’t planning on it, but it doesn’t seem right to make a brother and sister kill each other. Besides I can win.”

A little cocky and a little sentimental, hopefully enough to balance things out.

God only knows I have too many eyes on me already.

“Let’s give a round of applause for Dean Winchester, shall we?”

A total of two people clapped and even then it was sad and quiet. 

Then, Mayor Wellflake stepped up to the microphone and started to read the Treaty of Treason. It was almost painful to have to sit through. Dean just wanted to see his brother and apologize.

As the mayor droned on Dean finally convinced himself to look at Sam. He regretted the decision almost immediately after. Sam’s eyes were red from the tears that had been falling since Dean volunteered. He could tell the kid was having to stifle his cries to not make a scene. But behind the sadness sat the fear. The cold dread and terror that had now taken over Sam’s body. Sam was scared, scared for Dean. 

Dean could feel tears well up but refused to let them fall. He needed to get back to Sam, but he couldn’t kill the little girl next to him. His mind fought over the right decision. He could fight tooth and nail to get back to Sam, which he’d probably succeed at, or he could save a little girl, save his best friend’s sister. 

Half of his heart fought the other half. A violent brawl that would only end bloody. To pick Sam would be to pick family. Family was all that had Dean had. Family comes before everything. 

But, Castiel is family too. Anna is family. Letting her die would be like killing Sam.

Sam needs his brother, though, because John is a part of the family. The kid can’t survive with a drunk, absent father. Saving Anna would mean making Sam face that reality.

Anna is just twelve. She can’t-

It was then the mayor finished reading the treaty and ordered the tributes to shake hands. Dean’s mind still spun with arguments. He couldn’t make peace with either of the options presented to him.

His mind settled once he grasped the girl’s hand though. Her hand shook in his and the unadulterated fear in her eyes was enough. Dean was going to save this girl if it was the last thing he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a short one, but hey what can you do? I'm prewriting as much as I can so I can keep updates consistent. I'm still looking for a beta, so if you're willing, let me know! Anyways hope you enjoyed and see you sometime in the future!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean says goodbye.

Once the national anthem stopped playing peacekeepers came on stage to escort the tributes to the justice building.

_ Like I’m going to run. I volunteered for this.  _

Dean was placed in a room by himself and told to wait. He looked at his surroundings. It was a small room with a window seat and a view of the grain fields outside. There wasn’t anyone else inside the room with him, but he had a pretty strong feeling peacekeepers were sitting outside the door.

He took a seat at the window and started to rapidly bounce his leg up and down, waiting for Sam to show.

The door opened and in a flash Dean had an armful of crying twelve year old. They sat there for a while, Dean waiting for Sam to calm, even the slightest.

“Hey, Sammy.” He  _ tried  _ to sound confident, but his voice wavered as the words came out. 

“Dean, you can’t go!” Sam continued to cry into his brother’s shirt, clinging to him. 

“I don’t think the folks at the capital would be very happy with that,” he said.

That seemed to flip a switch, Sam let go of his brother and backed up a little bit, looking him in the eye. The anger in them was evident. “What were you thinking?” he bit at him. “Why would you volunteer? I know it’s Cas, but I’m still here! Did you think of how this would make  _ me  _ feel? That place is a death trap and you know it! I can’t risk…” Sam trailed off eyes scanning the room as he swallowed hard. Eventually his eyes settled on Dean again and he took a deep breath to calm himself.

“Dean, we both know you can win. You are the best tracker that I know, even better than dad, and you know how to use a scythe. Promise me that you  _ want _ to come back. Promise me that you’ll  _ fight. _ ”

Dean almost broke. Sam was, asking him,  _ begging  _ him to win, but Dean couldn’t make that promise. Next door a scared little girl was telling her family goodbye. She had only lived twelve short years. Dean has lived for sixteen, it may not be long, but it was certainly longer than  _ twelve.  _

“Have you seen Anna yet?” 

Sam saw right through him. “Dean…” Brown eyes bore into his skull. “You can’t-”

“ _ Have  _ you seen Anna yet?”

“No, I haven’t. We came to see you straight away.”   
  


“We?...” Dean glanced up to meet the eyes of his father, John Winchester. Dean was so used to him being passed out drunk somewhere that seeing his father standing there relatively sober was off putting to say the least.

“Dad.”

“Dean.”

“You take care of him when I’m away, alright? No more getting drunk and being MIA all day. Sam needs someone to take care of him and with me gone that means it’s got to be you. You’re the only family Sam’s got now.” Dean’s voice came out clipped. The order was clear.

“Dean, he’s my son I know-”   
  
“Yeah, well I’m your son too and I had to raise myself. Just promise me you’ll get your shit together and take care of the kid.”

“I promise.” John’s shoulders were tense and Dean could see emotions battling in his eyes. He seemed to settle on being resigned as his presence felt noticeably smaller within the room.

“Good.”

Dean looked back down at his brother. “Sam, I want you to know-”

Just then the door burst open and peacekeepers entered the room.

“Time’s up,” one said.

“Dean, quickly, take this!” Sam barely got a necklace into Dean’s hand before he was grabbed by a peacekeeper.

“Promise me you’ll fight!” He was being dragged closer and closer to the door. “Promise me!” Dean stayed silent. Now Sam was in the doorway. “Dean,  _ please! _ ” That was the last thing Dean heard his brother say before the door closed shut.

He looked down at the necklace in his hand. It was a pendant Sam had made at school this year. He’d said it was inspired by the old gods. Dean felt a small smile on his face as he felt reality start to set in. That was the last time he’d ever see his brother and all he’d done was lie to him.

Dean slipped the necklace onto his neck clutching the pendant in his hand. He closed his eyes taking a deep breath to center himself. He thought of the words he didn’t get to say.

_ Sam, I want you to know that I’ll always be here to protect you, and I’m sorry. _

Green eyes snapped open to meet blue when he heard the door click.

“Cas.”

“Dean, you’re such an idiot!” 

“Wow, no thanks huh?”

Cas crossed the room in short order. “What were you thinking? I can handle myself. You had no right to volunteer to go into that arena. Sam needs you,” Cas said.

“Yeah, and Anna will need you when she gets back.”

“Dean, you can’t seriously be considering…”

“I’m not considering. I’ve made my decision. Anna will be the one returning on that train, not me.”

Cas glared at Dean. The tears glistening in his eyes made the anger all the more clear. He opened his mouth to speak but paused as if trying to find the right words to say. He seemed to settle on some when he started “I  _ know  _ you have this unholy, undying, and  _ unhealthy  _ view of loyalty, goodness do I know.” Cas let out a small chuckle. “But this,  _ this,  _ is madness Dean. Can’t you see that? You are saying that you will willingly  _ die  _ and leave your brother behind just to save my sister. We both know she doesn’t stand a chance in that arena, but  _ you do.  _ Why throw that away?”

“Because Cas, she is your  _ sister.  _ I know you’d do the same for my brother. We protect and provide for each other and each other’s families. That’s how it’s always been for me and you. So shut up and let me do this for you. Your family couldn’t handle one child coming home in a box let alone  _ two. _ ” Dean took a breath, “Sammy is tough; he can deal without me. He’ll be fine.”

“ _ No,  _ he won’t be Dean!” Cas ran his hand through his hair. “You’re so infuriating sometimes! That kid idolizes you! You’re his world! If you die he’ll have nothing!”

“He’ll have you, and that’s a hell of a lot better than me.”

“Dean, you’re one of the greatest people I know, you'd do  _ anything  _ for Sam. Please, take that fire, that drive that makes you want Sam to be happy and  _ use it.  _ Fight in the games, not to protect Anna, but to win. All I ask is that when Anna dies-”

“She won’t. She’s coming back.”

“Fuck, Dean! She’s  _ twelve,  _ she has no chance! She’s my little sister, and somehow I’ve accepted that before you.” Cas started to cry again.

“I can’t lose you in that arena. I can’t lose her either, but it would eat me alive to know that you went into that arena to be a martyr for me. If Anna dies in there, all I hope is that it’s quick. If you die in there, protecting my sister in my place, I’ll have to live with that on my conscience for the rest of my life. I can’t accept that.”

“Well, you’re going to have to Cas,” Dean said. His face was set in stone. Cas knew the expression, the look of pure determination that meant nothing would stop him from pursuing his end.

“Dean, I’m telling you that I can’t handle losing you, and all you have to say is you’ve already accepted death? I never thought I’d say this, but I  _ wish  _ I was still the one who was heading to that place.”

That got a rise out of Dean. “Well, did you ever think that I can’t handle losing you ‽  Sorry to break it to ya Cas, but besides Sam, you’re the only thing I got.” Dean clenched his jaw and looked away to avoid the oncoming tears. “We’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember, and if that doesn’t mean we’re brothers, I don’t know what does. So yeah, maybe I have an “unhealthy” understanding of loyalty, but I won’t apologize for it. If I can save you  _ and  _ your sister from that arena, then I will, and nothing is going to stop me.”

Cas cast his gaze down to the floor. “Fine. I’m not gonna spend my last minutes with you fighting.”

“I’m not either. Will you do me one favor?” Cas looked up. “Will you watch out for Sammy? Make sure he gets fed and goes to school, and all that crap. My dad said he could take care of him, but I trust Dad about as far as I can throw him.”   
  


“Of course, Dean.”   
  


Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

Both of them stood there for a moment not sure what to do. Cas seemed to be fighting himself on something until he launched himself at Dean and tackled him in a hug.

“If Anna dies, I expect you to get your ass home,” he said into Dean’s jacket.

“Alright, Cas.”

The peacekeepers entered the room ready to drag someone out, but Cas just slipped past them and out into the hallway.

Dean strode back to the window seat and sat down. He didn’t expect any more visitors. He’d probably just have to wait until Anna was done. That’s why he was surprised when the door opened on last time, and a little boy darted in.

It was Kevin Tran. A little eight year old that Dean had taken under his wing. He’d been bullied for his smarts, and Dean wouldn’t allow that. 

Kevin stepped forward and crushed him in a hug.

Mrs. Tran, Kevin’s mother, stepped into the room after him.

“He wanted to say goodbye,” she said.

Dean gave her a small sad smile and crouched down to the boy’s height. 

“Good luck, Dean. I’ll miss you.”

“Thanks, bud. Hey be good for your mom for me, huh?”

Kevin nodded his head eagerly in response.

Dean smiled and ruffled his hair. “I’m sure you can take care of yourself, but stay out of trouble until I get back. I’ll see ya when all of this is over.”

“Okay,” Kevin leaned forward and whispered really loud, “I know you’re gonna win.”

Then the boy turned around and skipped out of the room, his mother following. Once he was gone the smile on Dean’s face disappeared. Such a simple encounter, and yet Dean couldn’t help but think of how he just lied to an eight year boy. He was never coming back, and Kevin would never see him again.

Dean went back to the window seat and collapsed into it. He rested his face in his hands and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Here's chapter three for y'all. I've written bout 10k words for this fic so far and that's pretty freakin exciting. I everyone had a great week and will have an even better next one! Please tell me what you think and I'll see you in the next update.


	4. Carbs? Who Doesn't Like Carbs?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean starts his journey to the capital.

Dean had managed to get himself under control before he had to leave the room. He couldn’t afford to look weak in front of the cameras. Red eyes and tear-stained cheeks would not cut it. He glanced at his reflection in the window. Green eyes and short brown hair met him. He looked fine considering his recent breakdown. Only those who knew him well would be able to identify that he’d been crying.

He took a few deep breaths while observing the grain fields. People were already back to work, harvesting, and planting. That’s how things had always been in nine. Other than work, eat, and sleep there wasn’t much else to do. The capital demanded very high levels of grain from the harvest, so there was never much free time. Anything associated with the games was the only break that could be afforded.

Sometimes people couldn’t handle the constant labor. Those people were weak. They tried to run and disappear into the fields, but they were always found. The peacekeepers offered money to the person who tracks down the runaway and brings them back. Dean had learned to find them from the best, his father.

Now, Dean could find someone within a day, no matter how hard they tried to throw him off. Most people didn’t run anymore because they knew the Winchesters would bring them back. The escape attempt wasn’t worth the whipping waiting for them when they were found.

Two peacekeepers entered the room, headed straight for Dean. The boy stood and allowed them to escort him out and to a car. Anna was already seated, still sniffling from her goodbyes.

Dean tried to give her a kind smile once he got in, but he couldn’t seem to muster the strength. Instead, he opted for a simple greeting.

“Hi, Anna.”

“Dean.” Anna’s voice wavered, and she turned her head away, probably to hide fresh tears.

Dean picked up on the cue and stayed silent the rest of the ride. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ridden in a car, typically they take wagons out to the field to load the grain into, or the peacekeepers bring a truck. The surroundings passed by the windows fairly quickly, and as a result, it didn’t take long to get to the train station. By the time the car had reached a full stop Dean’s had slipped his mask right back on.

The train station was full of reporters swarming around them like bees to honey. Dean saw himself in the projector on the wall and was impressed with his appearance. Eyes staring dead ahead and a jaw set in stone, Dean looked confident, to say the least.

Anna, on the other hand, looked like she'd been bawling for hours. Her clothes were disheveled, probably from hugging her mom, her hair was a rat’s nest, and her face was blotchy. Dean wished she looked slightly better. Sponsors never liked to see weakness, and with as much of it that Anna was showing, Dean knew none of them would be interested. He wondered if she looked like an easy target to the other tributes or if she looked too weak to even bother with. He hoped it was the latter.

The train doors opened with a slight hiss and Dean and Anna were ushered inside. The train started to move once the doors were closed. Dean inhaled slightly at the sudden increase in speed.

The two are shown to separate rooms and left to wait until dinner. Dean was surprised he even got a room at all. The trip wasn't supposed to take more than a couple of hours and there was no need to sleep during the ride.

The room itself was nice. The bed looked to have silk sheets and the dressers held fresh changes of clothes. Dean inspected the bathroom and found more scented soaps than he could count, a sink with  _ way  _ too many levers, and a shower with the best water pressure he had ever felt. 

He walked back into the bedroom and sat on the bed. Immediately he laid all the way down. It had to be criminal to have a bed this comfortable. Dean had never encountered this material. The squishy material had a slight resistance to it that made it just perfect. It also kept a cool temperature and never seemed to stay warm from body heat in one place.

_ If I have to choose the last bed I will ever sleep on, please let it be this one. _

Dean rolled over and buried his face in one of the pillows. It even smelt good.

"O' my go'," he spoke into what must have been Heaven.

"Do you like it?"

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned his head to see a man in his early forties. He had brown, almost black hair, and a deep tan. 

"It's called memory foam, in case you were wondering. Almost all the beds from the capital are made out of it."

"I have to admit, it is quite nice." Dean sat up. His words were short, clipped. The man observed as Dean’s body grew stiffer, obviously uncomfortable.

"Archer Wildpath, district nine's only male victor at your service."

"I know who you are. I would introduce myself, but I'm sure you already know."

"Dean Winchester, one of our only volunteers."

“That’s me.”

Archer seemed to acknowledge Dean’s unwillingness to talk and moved on.

“So we’ll have dinner in about two hours where we’ll talk strategy and such. Until then, take a shower, a nap, destroy the room, I don’t care, just keep yourself occupied.” With that Archer strode out of the room to goodness knows where.

The tension bled out of Dean’s shoulders once he knew the man was gone. He glanced around the room considering what to do for the next two hours. Dean flopped back onto the bed and fixed his eyes on the ceiling. 

Two hours ago he was out in the field cutting wheat, and now he’s on a train headed for the capital. Life was funny that way. If you let your guard down for one minute life stabs you in the stomach, but if you keep your guard up life leaves you alone, gains your trust, and when she knows you think you’re okay she stabs you in the heart and  _ twists.  _ Life is a brutal, stone-cold murderer and dream crusher who makes sure to cause the most pain as possible. She sits and waits with endless patience letting opportune moments pass her by until she knows that  _ this  _ moment is too good to pass up.

Dean mused on what life would be like if she was a person. Dark hair and dark eyes with a guise of warmth and welcome. At first, she is striking and catches your attention, but eventually, she melts into the background, slips past your notice. She makes you believe that she is kind and cares, but when you most need her to be there for you she rips the floor out from underneath you. Then when you're sitting on the ground in pain, she would kick you and shame you while you're down. Her once warm features now sharp and cold. Everything she does is another cut to your deep wounds and she’s prominent now. She no longer sits in the background warm, but now she’s at the forefront, cold and harsh. She has no compassion or care for you. Her now sharp blue interior exposed from the previous warm yellows. And you cry, because you’d made the gravest mistake, you had trusted and loved someone who wasn’t capable of trust and love, and now you have a price to pay.

The recent events made the tribute give a wry smile to himself. Life was succeeding in her goal. Dean had given up on living happy years ago. He knew he wasn’t someone who deserved success or stability or anything at all. Now though, life had punished him for the one thing that he held pride in, his loyalty. She’d gotten rid of his comfort, consistency. She’d made him doubtful and afraid, stripping him of his bravery. Most importantly, though, she’d ripped from him what he needed, his family.

Dean closed his eyes and attempted to slow his thoughts. A little rest couldn't hurt him. Yet, his mind didn't listen and continued to whir, going around and around. It went from trivial like,  _ I wonder what Sam is doing right now  _ to much bigger things like,  _ I will need to watch all the reaping videos after dinner to find who I need to keep an eye on and who I probably won't need to worry about. _

He went on existing in that space between sleeping and waking where thoughts vaguely cross your mind but you can't dwell on them. He floated in his dulled senses and peace of quiet. His ears vaguely registered the sliding of the door opening, but the slower workings of his brain didn't allow a reaction. 

A hand touching his shoulder grounded him and jolted him into the land of the living.

Archer stood above him. "Dinner is ready."

Dean simply gave a nod in response. Archer turned his back and exited the room. Dean ran his hands over his face attempting to make his brain less foggy. His fingertips were cold and touching them to his eyes made his thoughts speed up at an incredible space.

When he was satisfied with rubbing his face he alternated grabbing his fingertips with his other hand to warm them up. They always got cold after he laid down for a while. 

Once, he deemed the appendages warm enough, Dean stood up and walked out of his room looking down the hallway on either side of him. 

_ Where was the dining room?  _ He hadn’t thought to ask, so he took his chances and headed left. He half considered going right, as it always seemed things were on the right in society. He wanted to give the left a chance though, as society seemed to shun it.

When he had reached the end of the train and his search for the dining car had failed, Dean knew he’d made a mistake. Of course, he should have gone right, because in what world is anything on the left. He turned around and headed back down the train.

Finally, he found the dining car where everyone was already halfway finished with their meal. 

“Dean, glad you could join us,” Archer said.

“Yeah, sorry, I went the wrong way.”

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about that now. Come and sit down. Eat!”

Dean strode over to the table and took the seat next to Anna. Her red hair glistened in the lights of the train. He gave her a smile, but she avoided his gaze. 

“Hello, Dean, I am Chrysanthe.”

The woman directly across from him extended her hand to shake. Dean instantly felt safe around her. The only way to describe her was warm. She had blonde hair and blue eyes just like his mom. In fact, she was probably about the age his mother would have been if she was still alive. Smile lines and crow's feet were evident on her face, which was rare for a victor. When Dean saw the wedding ring on her finger his unasked question was answered.

_ She has a family. _

Most people in district nine didn’t care about their victors’ private lives. They believed that anyone who survived the games deserves as much privacy as possible. Dean wondered who her husband was and how he’d made her happy. The only stories that seemed to be told about victors were their too perfect to be true life, or how they drowned themselves in whiskey and memories until the person that used to exist is unrecognizable.

“Nice to meet you.”

Chrysanthe noticed how Dean didn’t move to grab any food. “What are you waiting for? Eat up! The rest of us have already started.”

Dean shook himself. He was so used to waiting for Sammy to grab as much food as he wanted before eating that immediately sitting down and grabbing food was foreign to him.

All of the entrees looked too fancy for Dean’s taste. The only things eaten at his house were bread and plain noodles. Considering that grain and flour were the cheapest options in nine, these things were pretty easy to make. The only issue was that noodles take eggs, but sometimes, Bobby, their neighbor down the street, had some extra ones to give away from his chickens. Yet another person Dean was going to miss, Bobby.

Dean's hand hovered above the food until he decided on the pasta two dishes down. It appeared to have some white sauces on it with cheese covering it. The Winchesters never had cheese, let alone sauce on their noodles.

He picked up the bowl and brought it over his plate, tipping some of the meal onto it. The noodles slinked out plopping onto the middle of his dish. The smell of cheese rose to greet Dean’s nose and he inhaled gratefully. Snatching up his fork, Dean prepared to dive in with gusto when he was interrupted.

It appeared that Tiberius, the district escort, could contain himself no longer. 

“Hi, Dean! I know you already know my name, but I’m Tiberius! It’s so exciting to finally talk to you! I mean my first volunteer ever! This is-”

“Tiberius,” Chrysanthe’s patient voice cut in, “Let the poor boy eat. He’s been through a lot today, and the last thing he needs is an interrogation at dinner.” 

Dean gave the older woman a grateful look and she nodded back. 

He dug into his food. It was heavenly. The noodles were covered in a cheese sauce that made Dean melt. He continued to inhale his food until he got seconds, and later thirds. By now everyone had moved onto dessert, but Dean couldn’t get over how  _ good  _ this dish was, and for the first time ever he passed up pie to continue eating his meal.

“It’s called five-cheese pasta, in case you want to know.” Dean looked up to see Archer smiling in amusement. A sheepish expression crossed Dean’s face. 

“Uh, thanks.”

“Alright, now onto the business that no one wants to discuss…  _ strategy. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely had a moment about right-handed society there, haha! Sorry I didn't upload this yesterday. I completely forgot. Anyways I hope you enjoyed it! Comments are huge motivators!


	5. A Life for a Life That's How It's Going to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to post this today so I woke up in the middle of the night to do it and I'm so tired you don't get a summary suck it up

Once the subject of the games were brought up, everyone at the table snapped to attention.

“Alright,” Archer started, “in order to get you guys through these games, I need to know your strengths. Throw ‘em at me.”

Anna and Dean stared at him for several moments in silence.

Archer gave a nervous chuckle. “So no strengths? Or did you just draw a blank?”

Anna seemed to recover from Archer's bluntness first. “I don’t know why you’re asking me for my strengths. I’m twelve. We both know I’m going to die as soon as I step foot into that arena. Don’t waste your time on me and focus on Dean. He actually has a chance of making it out.”

Archer gained a sad look in his eyes as Chrysanthe started to speak, “Anna, honey-”

Dean interrupted her. “You’re not going to die as soon as you step foot in that arena,” he said.

“Oh, really? What’s going to stop that from happening?”

“Me.”

Confusion was clearly written on the red head’s face.

“I’m going to save you from that arena if it’s the last thing I do.”

This was where Archer decided to make his thoughts known. “Now Dean, as much as I admire your noble intentions, maybe you shouldn’t be so hasty to throw your life out the window.”

“Archer, she’s only twelve, a  _ kid _ . Besides, her brother is my best friend, one of the best people I know. I owe it to him to get his sister out of the arena, and who’s to say she doesn’t deserve a long happy life with her family? Certainly not me. I made my peace with death years ago. The kid is gonna get out, not me.”

The adults saw the resolve in Dean’s eyes and knew that trying to persuade him to fight would be hopeless. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t try.

“Dean, I don’t know you, but you’ve got to have a family, right?” Chrysanthe started.

“I do. I have a younger brother, Sam.”

“Wouldn’t he want you to survive? I’m certainly not saying that you have to kill Anna if you don’t want to, but right now you sound as if you’re on a suicide mission. Why don’t you fight?”

Sam begging him to fight as he was dragged out the door flashed through Dean’s mind.

“Sam does want me to fight, but-”

“But what, Dean? I’m sure your family would love to see you again. What could possibly justify the fact that you want to die?”

“I don’t know, maybe the fact that I don’t deserve to live!” Dean exploded.

Shocked silence greeted him.

“At least not as much as Anna, okay?” Dean's voice was much quieter now. “Let’s just focus on saving her.”

“Well,” Tiberius said to diffuse the tension, “it’s a shame I won’t get to enjoy those looks after the games. I guess I’ve got to bask in them while I still can.”

Everyone simply ignored him.

“Well, this still brings me back to my original question. What are your strengths?” Archer said.

Anna decided to actually answer this time. “Um… I’m quick and can out run a lot of people. I can also hide pretty well, but I don’t think I’ll be very good at it if the landscape isn’t like home.”

Archer nodded and turned his attention to Dean. “And you Dean?”

“I don’t really have any strengths that’ll help in the games.”

“Bullshit!” Anna exclaimed. She turned to look at Archer. “Dean is the best tracker in nine. He can find any runaways in no time flat. Cas is always talking about Dean’s accomplishments when it comes to finding someone. He’s even better than his dad.”

“And what am I going to do with tracking in the arena?”

Chrysanthe was able to answer that one for him. “Dean if you know how to track people that means you also know how to cover your tracks. You know how to be  _ untraceable _ .”

“Cas, is that the boy you volunteered for?” Tiberius butted in.

Dean had no interest in answering.

“Yes, he’s Dean’s best friend, and he’s my brother!”

“Interesting,” said Archer, “we could use that in the Capital. You volunteering, not only to stop siblings from fighting each other, but to protect your best friend. The sponsors would eat that up.”

“Wouldn’t that make me look weak to the other tributes?” Dean asked.

“Perhaps, but I’m sure you know how to defend yourself. Also, the tributes, specifically the careers, usually go after who they deem as  _ strong.  _ Of course, we don’t want to make you appear helpless, but your story won’t do anything of the sort.”

“Fine.”

“Apart from the tracking, is there anything else you are good at, Dean?”

The boy still stayed silent.

“Dean, I know you’re less than excited about this, but if you’re serious about saving Anna you will speak up,” Chrysanthe said.

“Uh…,” Dean finally said, “I guess I’m pretty good with a scythe.”

Again, Anna found it her duty to correct him. “He’s not just pretty good. He’s  _ awesome.  _ He’s really fast, and he’s one of the most productive workers in the field. Dean can get his scythe out and ready faster than anyone I’ve seen. Also, he knows how to use one in a fight.”

Dean started to glare at Anna, but the girl kept going.   
  
“Cas told me that Dean’s dad trained him how to fight with a scythe and just hand to hand. If a runaway ever gets violent, it seems that Dean always comes out on top. That, along with his natural agility, should be enough for him to win the games.”

“Is that true? Do you know how to fight?” Chrysanthe asked. She seemed to pick up on the fact that Dean always answered her.

“Yeah, I know how to fight some.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not really.”   
  
“ _ Dean. _ ”

Dean’s reluctance crumbled a little around the edges. “All that Anna said was true. My dad has been training my brother and I to fight since we were little. That way when we took up the family businesses of hunting down runaways, we could handle ourselves.”

Dean seemed content to stop there, but at the pointed look Chrysanthe gave him, he continued.

“I know how to fight hand to hand. My dad taught me the pressure points on the body, so I can take down an opponent quickly. If all else fails, I know the basics. When in doubt, go for the eyes, or the crotch if they are a guy. I can use a scythe pretty efficiently. Dad trained me to use one as I always have one on me… And, I know where the major arteries are so someone can be taken down quickly. I know how to bleed someone like a hunter with a deer. I guess I could take someone down in the arena then.”

“That’s quite the skill list there, Dean…” Archer said.

Dean fixed his gaze on the table. “Yeah, I guess.”

“That’s good, and we can work with it. Alright, so I want you to avoid any training stations that have to do with tracking, hand to hand combat, using a scythe, and anything else that demonstrates your strengths. I don’t want the tributes knowing what you can do. That way they are at a disadvantage, possibly getting caught by surprise. They’ll never expect a competent tribute from nine,” Archer said.

“Instead I want you to focus on survival stations. The most notable are knot tying, poisonous plants, and fire building. The knot tying will be useful if you need to build a small structure. I cannot stress how important the fire building station is though. Fires are useful for cooking and for heat, but they are also a beacon to the rest of the tributes. I want you to know how to start and extinguish a fire within ten minutes before the games start. I’d rather you don’t use one in the games. When you’re cooking, cook over some coals and not a whole fire."

"While you still have access to full meals, we also want you to eat as much as possible, especially carbs." Chrysanthe picks up from where Archer left off. "Hopefully you two will gain some weight before you enter the arena. That way you won't need to eat as much in the beginning and can conserve your food so you're not so desperate when it's scarce."

Both the victors noticed the overwhelmed looks taking over the kids' face.

Chrysanthe gave them a gentle smile. "That's probably enough strategy talk for tonight. Go get some rest. You've got a big day ahead of you."

Grateful to get out of there, Anna and Dean leaped up from the table and practically sprinted out of the room.

Dean looked down at Anna when she spoke.

"Are you serious about saving me?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Well don't be," she said. "You're throwing away your chances here, Dean. I'm not worth that. Even with your protection I'll probably die. Don't waste your time or energy on me."

By now they'd reached the door of her room. They stood outside staring each other down, seeing who would give in first.

"Anna, I can't do that. I've made up my mind."

"And what made you make this decision in the first place?" she yelled, and for a second Dean could only see Cas in front of him. "Dean, I'm not saying I don't want to live,  _ I do,  _ but that's not going to happen, but without killing you first. I can't live with that type of guilt on my shoulders."

"Well, you'll have to learn."

"Dean, I'm not Sam!" Anna's face was as red as her hair. "I know I'm his age, but I'm  _ Anna _ ! You feel the need to sacrifice everything for that boy, but I'm different! You don't need to sacrifice everything for me."

Miffed at her words, Dean finally decided to speak more than one sentence. "Anna I  _ know  _ you're not Sam. Sam  _ begged  _ me to win and come back, but I couldn't promise that. Don’t act like this decision is easy for me!"

He took a breath. "Yes, it's true you're the same age as Sam, and when I look at you I see some of him. It may even be true that part of my motivation for saving you is because you remind me of him. But this isn't about him, not for a second.

"You are family, Anna. I would do  _ anything  _ for family, and if that means dying, so be it. Outside of Sam, you Novaks are my little brothers and sisters, and I would take a bullet for any of you. 

"I  _ couldn't  _ cope with Cas going into these games, and I certainly can’t accept you dying. So you can either go along with my mission and make my life a hell of a lot easier or you can be stubborn and fight me. Either way I'm going to protect you with every fiber of my being."

"Dean-" she started to fire back, ready to keep arguing.

"No, Anna, I'm not discussing this any further. Accept that you're making it out, or don't, either way it's going to happen. 

"Go get some rest. I'll see ya in a few hours when we get to the Capitol."

Dean turned down the hall and strode to his room, entering immediately. He walked over to the edge of the bed and sat undoing the laces on his boots. He kicked off his shoes and laid back sinking into the warm comfort of the bed.

Again Dean's thoughts started to spin and weave together in his head. This time was different however, because when he told them to shut up, they did.

_ Might just be because I'm tired,  _ he thought.

Eventually Dean convinced himself to get under the covers instead of laying on top of them. Once he was settled under the blankets, his eyes felt like cinder blocks being yanked down. There was no hope for opening them after they had closed, and Dean drifted away into the land of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There that's the chapter. Thank you and good night.


	6. Sweat, Blood, and Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a (slightly familiar) nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a nightmare with blood and gore. It might be disturbing to some, so fair warning.

Wheatfields stretched out on either side of Dean. The familiar yellow color of the plant expanding as far as the eye can see.

Dean takes a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of district nine. He went to grab his scythe to start harvesting the chest-high crop, but there was nothing there.

He looked down confused. He always had his scythe on him. He practically slept with it. 

When he looked back up he noticed something else was wrong. There was no one to be seen. The fields always had people in them working.

He started to walk, hoping to see someone. The farther he walked the more hope he lost. He still hadn't found anyone.

He started to run. His mind started to panic. There had to be  _ someone  _ out here. A few feet turned in yards, which turned into miles, and still, Dean was stuck in the never-ending wheat field by himself.

_ There's no one. _

Dean turned to start moving again and leaped back. Two blue eyes stood in front of him, boring into his soul. Dean noticed he knew those eyes.

"Cas," he said, taking a deep breath to calm himself. "Where have you been, man?" 

Cas didn't respond and instead just stared at Dean.

"Cas, would you stop with the staring? It's kinda freaking me out, man."

The other boy was still as a statue. He made no move to speak, but after a moment a smirk started to form on his face. It wasn't Cas' usual smirk that held mirth and mischief, no. This was cold and sharp and pure  _ evil.  _

Dean was about to ask what was up with the smirk when hands shot out from stalks of grain, grabbing his ankles. They yanked Dean to the ground and started to drag him through the fields.

Dean yelled in fear and rolled on his stomach, clawing at the ground. It did nothing to stop the monsters dragging him. His fingernails broke and tore, starting to bleed. 

Dean kept struggling and fighting. He was kicking and screaming and flailing around, trying to rid himself of the invisible force. 

Dirt filled his shirt as the grain whipped at his skin, slicing it. Giving up on clawing, Dean reached out to grab the wheat stalks, hoping they'd slow him, but they only sliced into his hands leaving his blood on the stalks.

He couldn’t get any air in his lungs as the world flew by at high speeds. 

“Help!” he called out hoping someone, anyone would hear him. But no one answered.

A rock is what saved Dean. His body hit it full force, making sharp knives of pain stab a line up his torso. A scream echoed through the fields.

The monsters dragging Dean seemed to recognize something had happened to their cargo and he stopped moving. 

He rolled onto his back to find his attackers, but nothing was there. He was alone. Dean looked down at his stomach and a throbbing feeling coming from it. A deep gash had worked its way up his torso, starting to the left of his belly button and ending at about the middle of his sternum. His chest screamed with every inhale.

And then came the claws. An invisible force ripped into his chest shredding the flesh underneath. More and more gashes appeared as Dean screamed. Blood soaked the ground beneath him, the once gold wheat becoming red and spongy. It seeped out of his lips, lining them like thin lipstick. But no matter how much blood he lost, life never started to seep out of Dean. The only thing that continued was the constant excruciating pain of the claws digging into his chest. 

Dean screamed and screamed his voice going raw. He screamed until all that came out were hoarse whisper-like words. His words tore apart his throat and more blood started to bubble up. It flowed out of his mouth onto the ground. More and more continuing to drip, then stream, then gush out. 

The red liquid started to rise causing Dean to swim in it. And then he was drowning. Blood was everywhere, flooding the field and encasing him in its warm, sticky embrace. He breathed in, but there was only blood. Dean panicked even more than before, thrashing around to escape its hold. It filled his lungs, slowly suffocating him. His chest burned and screamed for air.

A hand plunged toward Dean, and he tried to jerk away, remembering what happened last time hands had grabbed him. It grasped his shoulder anyway. The hand squeezed and then Dean’s eyes snapped open.

He scrambled into a sitting position short, stunted breaths pushing themselves from his lungs. Something warm touched his arm and deen looked down.  _ A hand.  _ Dean almost fell off of the bed in his urgent need to escape.

“Woah, Dean it’s okay,” a voice spoke. It was the voice of a man. Dean’s eyes snapped up to see the speaker.

Archer Wildpath stood there, hands up in a placating gesture. Slowly he started to approach Dean, careful not to startle the boy. 

“It’s okay,” he repeated. “Try and take some deep breaths for me.”

Dean tried to inhale deeper, but he still felt like he was choking,  _ drowning.  _ Each breath of air into his lungs felt more and more like liquid. And then his breaths were even shorter, hurting Dean’s chest.

“Dean, come on and breathe with me. It’s okay.” Archer took a deep breath, held it for a little bit, and let out a steady exhale. He gestured with his hands, bringing them up as he inhaled and lowering them as he exhaled.

Dean tried to imitate him. He started to take in a shaky breath, but then he was drowning, and he let it out in a short burst. 

Archer was now sitting on the edge of the bed and continued to breathe deeply.

“You’ve got it.”

And Dean continued to try and after a minute or two he realized. He wasn’t drowning. He was fine. It had only been a nightmare.

The boy gathered himself enough to whisper out a thanks, but his throat hurt.

_ At least that was real. Must have screamed my throat raw. _

“You’re welcome. Do you want to tell me what that was about? Nearly gave half the train a heart attack when you started screaming bloody murder.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Dean’s lips. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“I get it. Nightmares suck, and you barely know me, but I’ve found it almost always helps to talk. At least it gets the images out of your head, if even for a minute.”

Dean brought his knees up to his chest, curling in on himself.

“Alright, I can take a hint. If you don’t want to talk about it I’ll go. Try and get some more rest. We’ll be at the capital in a little over an hour.”

Archer stood to leave the room.

“Wait,” Dean said, voice quiet. “Would you…” he broke off, “Would you stay here until I fall back asleep?”

He needed someone,  _ anyone,  _ to sit with him as he drifted into the land of dreams again. He couldn’t be alone. The thought that someone might be there to protect him was oddly comforting, no matter who it was.

Archer's eyes softened and he made his way back over to Dean. “Where do you want me to be?”

“Um, you can lay down. That’s fine. As long as you are comfortable. I just need to know someone’s, you know,  _ here _ .”

“Of course.” The past victor slid onto the bed laying on his back, hands clasped over his stomach. He made no move to get under the covers, which Dean was grateful for. This was already weird enough. 

Dean closed his eyes, and slowly, ever so slowly drifted off again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Was it good? let me know. Comments are greatly appreciated!


	7. Dean Never Asked to Become a Fairy, But Become One He Did

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Anna battle over couch space. Dean's stylist is actually a nice guy?

The next time Dean awoke a knock could be heard through the door. It slid open and in strode Archer. Dean spared a quick glance at the spot next to him. The sheets were rumpled from the grown man’s weight.

_ So that wasn’t a dream. _ _   
  
_

“Hey, we’re going to be at the Capitol in five, so get dressed and put your dancing shoes on,” Archer said.

“Okay, thanks, Archer.” Dean’s attitude was much warmer toward the man, and he could tell Archer was surprised.

“Uh, yeah, meet us in the dining car and we’ll go from there.”

The door slid shut as the victor strode out of the room. Dean leaped up from the bed and snatched his boots off the floor. He didn’t see the point in changing out of his clothes, so he slipped his feet in the footwear and started to tighten the laces. Once he reached the top and tied the two strings in a knot, he strode out of the room and went right.

Chrysanthe walked up to him when she saw him enter the car. “Are you ready?”

A simple nod of the head.

“I need you to do me a favor. There is no denying that you are attractive, Dean, and from this point on we’ll be using that to our advantage. Archer and I want you to be as warm and amiable to the people as you wish. Not flirty and overtly sexual, but  _ nice.  _ We can only pull a Finnick Odair once.”

Dean remembered the District Four victor from last year. He was the youngest winner in history, just a year younger than Dean. His strategy to get sponsors was to charm them all with his devastatingly good looks and flirty attitude. Past interviews of the golden haired boy danced in front of Dean’s eyes. Somehow he managed to capture everyone’s attention, refusing to let them go.

Dean lightly shook his head. He agreed with Chrysanthe, there was no way he could pull  _ that  _ off.

“Sure,” he said.

“Good. We talked to your stylist about your outfit for the interviews, and we think that we can easily pull off a classically handsome look. That’s in both attitude and physical looks.”

The green eyed boy knew how important this could be, an image. Every tribute tries to have their “thing” to differentiate them, and if Dean’s good looks were that thing, he was okay with that.

The train slowed to a stop and the group made their way to the car that Dean and Anna had entered. Dean could hear the yells and shouts coming from outside the train.

_ Here we go. _

And he plastered a smile on his face. Anna stood next to him doing the same. 

The doors slid open and the screams and yells became ten times louder. Dean could hear some people shouting his name, and if that wasn’t a surreal experience.

_ These people know who I am… Because I’m going to fight children to the death.  _

Dean felt disgust at all the brightly colored people around him. His smile stuck firm though. He started to wave and even said a hello to an especially excited looking woman. He thought she would pass out.

The colors of the capital people became a blur, and then the doors of the tribute center shut behind them. The deafening sound behind them now much quieter. 

“Okay,” Tiberius spoke up. “We have about two hours until you need to be in the remake center. We’ll head up to our floor and you can do whatever you do until then.”   
  
Dean didn’t know how he didn’t notice Tiberius until now. The clothes on the man were ridiculous. He could have been a giant marshmallow, or perhaps a large chicken. A white, fluffy monstrosity sat on his head, and his body was encased in a white ball. Little tufts of something came off of the ball in different directions, and slightly swayed in the air.

Tiberius led them toward the elevator, and Dean found himself wondering if Tiberius could fit. Disappointment washed over Dean when the district escort had no issue getting through the doors of the small car.

The elevator rose with a ding as it passed each floor. And then they had come to a stop. The doors slid open with a slight hiss, and the passengers piled out. Beauty and luxury stretched out before them.

Dean walked forward and almost melted when his feet touched the carpet. The soft quality of the carpet caused his shoes to sink. Dean marveled at the revelation that not all carpet was hard and scratchy.

The biggest red couch Dean had ever seen sat in the corner, and he considered running and jumping onto, but held himself back. That would be a childish thing to do.

Anna had no such reservation. With a slight yell she dove head first into the cushions and sprawled out across the seats.

“This is awesome,” she said, and Dean couldn’t help but smile at her excitable nature.

Anna had always been this way. Smart and calculated when she needed to be. She could out logic many kids at her school. But in the times where it didn’t matter, there were probably less of those than anyone would like to admit, she was an absolute wild child.

She’d spent many afternoons with Sam screeching and running around the Winchester’s house. She’d run into doors full speed, pop back up like nothing happened, and continue right on screaming, usually with Sam right behind her.

Cas and Dean would watch on and smile at their sibling’s antics. They were typically in the living room talking during those times. It was one of the rare times where they could actually sit.

Dean looked to his left, half expecting Cas to be there. His heart ached at the empty space, he's going to miss that. 

The boy strode over to the couch and sat on a small sliver still available. 

“Scoot over,” he said.

“No.”

“Anna, come on. I need more space than half a butt cheek.”

“No, I was here first. Go find your own chair.”

“Anna, it’s a couch for everyone, you can’t take up all the seats.”

“I can, and I have. Suck it up.”

“No!”

They continued to bicker over who had the right to couch real estate.

“Alright you two,” Chrysanthe cut in. “The issue of couch space can be discussed later. We have some work to do. So sit up and act at least slightly responsible.”

Anna popped her head up from where it had previously been laying, and moved her legs off the seats to sit up. The tributes looked over to see Archer and Chrysanthe with amused smiles on their faces.

“That’s better,” Chrysanthe said, and moved to sit between the two. Archer followed behind. “We’re going to put this time to good use and watch the other districts’ reapings, so be sharp. Keep and eye out for anyone who comes off as a serious threat.”

Dean saw Archer fiddle with a small black device causing the TV in front of them to come to life. 

Dead silence settled over the audience as the reaping from District One played. Both tributes volunteered, which came as no surprise.

Dean noticed the girl, Joanna Harvelle. Her beauty was striking. She had blonde hair and brown eyes, which appeared warm and welcoming, a big difference from the usual cold demeanor of District One tributes.

The girl from District Two, Kali, is intimidating to say the least. She volunteers without hesitation, and Dean recognizes the dangerous glint in her eye. He wasn’t stupid. He’d stay away from her. 

“Keep an eye on her in training,” Archer says, presumably reading Dean’s mind.

The kids gave a terse nod.

Then a scrawny boy, Garth Fitzgerald, is reaped in District Three. Nothing eye-catching or noticeable about him, Dean wondered why he stood out. 

Districts Four, Five, and Six go by with little to no comment. The girl from Four volunteered, but that was about it. They were getting into solemn faces and starved bodies.

District Seven rolled around and Dean sat up a little straighter after seeing their male tribute. A huge figure detached himself from the boys’ section and strode onto stage. The girl that stood next to him seemingly a midget in his tall shadow.

_ What was his name? _

“Wow,” Chrysanthe said, letting out a short exhale. “I guess this kind of goes without saying, but watch out for him. He’s  _ huge. _ ”

A silent nod of agreement echoed in the room. 

District Eight was a blur of passing color, both tributes sad and small looking from their place on stage.

And then they were watching what Dean dreaded the most. The reaping of District Nine. He watched as Anna’s name was called. Her small body shoved onto the stage. Then Cas’s name was called, and Dean saw the dark haired boy freeze.

Sickness settled in his stomach, the same as the first time when Dean was there. Cas spared a quick glance at Dean and then slowly started to make his way up to the stage. 

It happened exactly as Dean remembered. Tiberius gazed out at the crowd and asked his cursed question. 

  
“Volunteers?”

And Dean saw himself hurl his body out of the crowd and into the aisle in the middle. He saw himself stand straight and stare Tiberius dead in the eye. He heard himself say, “I volunteer as tribute.”

The whole experience was surreal, seeing his actions from outside his body. At the time Dean didn’t know what he looked like, but now he did. His head was held high, but you could see the stiffness in his posture. 

  
Cas was dragged off the stage kicking and screaming like a child, trying to stop his friend. Dean heard the Capitol people comment on how the boys must have known each other. He heard as they complemented his confident posture. Dean heard them continue to babble and dwell on the District Nine reaping. The rarity of a volunteer from Nine continually discussed.

And then, “He certainly is a handsome young man. It’s a shame that he might not come back from the games.”   
  


The floor tilted under Dean. He knew what those words meant. The Capitol fancied him. These awful people thought he was handsome. Some of them would maybe have a celebrity like crush on him. Dean thought he must have turned three shades greener.

Thankfully, the anchors seemed to get bored with District Nine and moved on. Nothing special happened in the last three reapings. District Nine had stolen the show.

Archer turned the TV off once the reaping of District Twelve finished. 

“Well, good news, they like you, Dean.”

“Yeah, they like me because everyone likes a martyr. Their sacrifice is remembered for a week, and then they slip from recent memory.”

“No, Dean, it’s not like that,” Chrysanthe said. “You volunteering may have caught the Capitol’s attention, but as much as it pains me to say it, you are attractive. That is more important to them than your character. For now at least.”

Dean fell into silence. Attractive, that’s what the Capitol saw him as. He wanted to go take a scalding hot shower and scrub his skin of these strangers’ affections. True, back in District Nine Dean liked to put his good looks to use to secure a hot date, but now he didn’t want them.

“Any other tributes catch your eye to be wary of?” Chrysanthe asked.

“The boy from Two,” Anna pipes up. “Um, Stone, I think his name was. He had  _ huge  _ arms. Not like the scrawny boy arms of most kids his age, but like huge tree trunk sized arms. He could probably pop someone’s head off with those…” Anna continued on about the size of this dude’s arms in that excitable child like way.

Dean zoned out and simply watched Anna talk on and on about this one kid. A warmth spread across his body, embracing every nerve ending. 

_ Love. _

Archer’s face held that amused look from earlier when he turned to Dean and spoke. “How about you Dean? Did you notice anyone? Apart from mister big arms of course.”

“Yeah, um, I noticed a few people.” Dean was slightly hesitant to continue. He didn’t want his observations to be shot down as silly, but then he remembered Anna’s reasoning behind being cautious of the District Two boy and forged ahead.

“The girl from District One, she’s pretty and she might use that to her advantage. She also comes off as kind in demeanor, which is vastly different from most District One tributes. I’d say we proceed with extreme caution.

Next, the girl from District Two, Kali. She’s obviously prepared and not afraid to go into the arena. The speed at which she volunteered indicates she has no reservations. You already pointed out to keep an eye on her, and I one hundred percent agree.

Finally, the boy from District Seven. I can’t remember his name, but he was huge and he seemed determined. Determination is dangerous. I’ll make sure to evaluate his skills during training to see how much of a threat he is. But his size alone already puts many of us at a huge disadvantage.”

Archer gave a nod of approval. “Good, it appears you’ve picked out who to keep an eye on, and I don’t disagree with any of those. I would say to also watch the boy from One and the tributes from Four as both are career districts.”

“Okay, that’s enough of the nitty gritty,” Tiberius said. “Today is the tribute parade!” The man with green skin looked like he was about to squeal. “We are going to put you in that chariot, and you are going to look fabulous! I hope that your stylists this year were smart and District Nine will become the talk of the town!” 

Both Anna and Dean stared, no recognition behind their eyes.

“Sorry if I lost you, but you’ll see what I mean soon enough. Anyways we’re due to be in the remake center in a little over a half of an hour, so you two go take a shower and dress in nicer clothes. I refuse to be embarrassed with ragamuffin tributes.”

Tiberius stood and hauled both children to their feet. He lightly shoved both of them and made a shooing motion with his hands.

“Go, quickly now!”

Anna and Dean didn’t move and inch.    
  
“Where exactly are we going to get ready?” Dean asked. 

“Oh, silly me,” Tiberius smacked himself in the forehead. “I’ll show you where your rooms are.”

He strode out of the room, the white bubble around his body bobbing up and down as he went. Anna and Dean followed behind, Anna going first. 

The district escort showed Anna into her room on the right side of the hallway they had entered, and Dean’s on the left. 

Dean entered his room. It was huge. The biggest bed Dean had ever seen sat in the middle and a huge window was on the right side of it.    
  
He walked over to the window and saw a black remote laying on the night stand near it. He picked up the remote and pressed the red button. The Capitol, that was once visible, disappeared behind a scene of the ocean.

Dean let out a small breath. He’d never seen the ocean before. It was loud and what must have been waves rolled out from the water and onto the shore. They swept the sand in and out in a constant steady motion.

He considered changing the screen to something more familiar. That’s what Dean assumed this screen was for, to make tributes feel more at home. However he kept the scene of the ocean where it was. The constant drumming putting him at ease.

There was a door in the back left corner of the room. Dean assumed it was the bathroom.

He walked over to the dresser placed on the wall near the foot of the bed. He slid open the top drawer and saw it had been jam packed with metallic materials. He slammed it shut almost as soon as it had been opened. 

“Nope...no…” he said to himself.

After a bit of digging, Dean found clothes that were semi-normal. He hoped they still qualified as “presentable” to Tiberius. There was no way he would be wearing any of those other monkey clothes.

Taking his clothes to the bathroom, Dean got ready for a shower. Opening the shower door, levers and buttons stood stark against the white walls. Dean felt just as unprepared as he had the first time trying to take a shower.

He reached toward the biggest lever and turned it, water running from the shower head above. Stream rose in tendrils from the liquid immediately. Yet another thing Dean wasn’t used to, hot,  _ running  _ water. All he usually had was the stuff in a tub or  _ frigid  _ water from the tap.

He stepped in and randomly picked a soap. Who cared what he smelt like? The remake center would probably change it anyway. Dean stayed in the shower for longer than he usually would. Any second in there was a second not spent out in the real world.

He did have to get out at one point though and slowly turned the water off when he deemed it time. Slipping into his clothes he left the bathroom and his room walking out into the hallway. He made his way back to the living room. No one was there and Dean took advantage of the vast couch space available to him.

A moment passed and Dean heard light footsteps tread into the room. He didn’t care to look at who had entered. That is until a weight landed itself on his stomach.

The air in Dean’s lungs launched out. He groaned in pain. 

“That’s what you get for taking up the whole couch, jerk.”

The usual retort of “bitch” was on the tip of Dean’s tongue when he realized that this wasn’t Sam.

“Dean come on and move,” Anna's voice called to him. It was too distinctly female to be his brother.

“Yeah, alright, alright,” he grumbled while moving to sit up.

Tiberius bustled into the room a whirlwind of stress and high energy. The aura given off by the man immediately put Dean more on edge.

“We don’t have time to lay around! Up! Up! We have to go to the remake center!”

Tiberius urged the kids out of the room and into the elevator. Archer and Chrysanthe were nowhere to be seen.

“Where are Archer and Chrysanthe?” Anna asked.

“Oh, they’ll meet us after you’re done with your stylists!”

“Okay…” Anna sounded unsure.

“Don’t you worry about it little one! You’ll be in safe hands until then! The folks at the remake center know what they are doing! I know  _ your  _ stylist personally and she is wonderful, so relax!” Tiberius was positively vibrating in excitement.

_______

Dean decided he didn’t like the remake center. The team scrubbed his skin at least three times before they even started on anything else. He had just taken a shower. How dirty could he be? 

He heard Anna’s small yelps as her remake team waxed her everywhere. Luckily Dean avoided that fate, but he was still waxed in other more sensitive  _ areas.  _ He wondered why. It freaking hurt, and the Capitol couldn’t leave him in the buff. 

_ Could they? _

The remake team started working on his face, plucking and prodding and washing. Dean gave up on complaining long ago, learning that it made no difference.    
  
They shoved him into a small room off to the side taking the robe they had let him wear with them. He stood there completely naked and completely uncomfortable. The cold air nipped at his skin.

The door opened again after about fifteen minutes. A man with deep blue skin entered.

Dean could not deny that he had style. 

Gold accents were streaked throughout his hair and gold eyeliner wings were painted onto his face.

He wore a black suit with ornate silver constellations sewn along the jacket and pants. His waistcoat held a silver chain of a pocket watch. Dean wondered what it looked like. 

The man reached into the pocket with silver painted fingernails and extracted the pocket watch. It also had constellation designs on it. The stylist checked the time and made a small tisk sound.

“We’re two minutes behind schedule.” He extended his hand to Dean. “My name is Galileo. I’m your stylist.”

“Dean.” The boy grasped his hand and gave it a firm shake.

“Um, nice to meet you.” Galileo’s confidence seemed to slip away as the conversation moved past simple introductions. “I’m not, um, I’m not the, um, best with words, so, um, I prefer to work in quiet. Is that….that okay with you?”

Dean recognized the man's nerves and gave him, what he hoped was, a reassuring smile.

“That is fine by me, but could you tell me what I’ll be wearing first?”

“Oh, um,” Galileo looked down at the ground, wringing his hands together. “It’s-it’s nothing important. It’s just a, um, simple-simple enough idea. We, the girl’s stylist and I, decided to go in a different direction this year. I, uh, saw your pendant on your necklace when you were getting on the train in District Nine and thought that outfits themed after the, um, the old gods would be good.”

Dean had some lingering confusion that he wanted to ask about, but he decided against it. He had already made Galileo talk more than the man probably wanted to.

Galileo seemed more at ease now that silence had settled over the two. He got to work sitting Dean down in the chair in the corner of the room and putting makeup on his face. 

The makeup consisted of a paint like dark yellow or light brown substance; Dean could feel it being painted from his forehead down to his chin, both of the lines going over his eyes.

Galileo stode over to a garment bag in the room that Dean hadn’t noticed. He unzipped it and pulled out a piece of gold fabric embroidered with gorgeous grain designs. He walked back to Dean carrying the garment bag and fabric with him.

The stylist took the fabric and draped it across Dean’s chest like a sash, tying the two ends in a knot at Dean’s hip. Then he pulled a pair of shorts and a piece that vaguely resembled a skirt out of the bag. 

The skirt was the same golden yellow as the sash and looked like wheat had been plucked straight from District Nine. After slipping on the similarly colored shorts Galileo handed the skirt to Dean. He slipped it on trying to think of how this must look. It fell to midthigh so Dean didn’t feel super exposed to the world, but he wasn’t exactly comfortable. 

Galileo was getting noticeably more excited as more of the outfit was put together. Brown leather strapped sandals were slid onto the boy’s feet. One last thing appeared out of the garment bag. 

It was a wreath made of golden wheat and barley, green oat stalks, and a few flowers with pastel purple and blue. Galileo reverently sat the crown upon Dean’s head and took a step back. He stared at Dean for a solid minute seemingly thinking something was missing. 

“Wait!” he exclaimed, causing Dean to jump at the disrupted silence. 

Galileo reached into his pocket and fished out a necklace with a pendant on it. It was  _ Dean’s  _ necklace. The remake team had taken it from him.

Galileo raised the necklace over Dean’s head and put it on the boy.

“There we go,” he said, seemingly to himself.

The man took a step back and stared at Dean for a minute. It made him uncomfortable to say the least.    
  


“Um, is there anything else you need to do?” Dean asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Galileo looked down at the ground again, “Sorry, you can come and, um, look in the mirror over here.”   
  
He waved Dean over to the left of the wall where a mirror covered by a sheet lay.    
  
Dean stood in front of it and waited for Galileo to pull the sheet off. 

The sheet billowed to the ground, the air catching it as it fell. There Dean saw himself standing tall.

“Wow,” he said, not quite comprehending what he was seeing.

Dean looked powerful. He understood what Galileo had said about being inspired by the old gods. Dean was the spitting image of a god of grain and harvest.

His face had two lines from forehead to chin running over his eyes. The light brown paint running in ornate details and swirls branching out curling around his freckles. The details went wider under his eyes and across his cheek bones, and they got thinner as they traveled down his face.

The sash and  _ skirt,  _ Dean internally shuddered at the word, paired with the crown atop his head made him look powerful. A king among men.

He turned to Galileo catching the man’s eyes. “Thank you,” he said.

“I’m only doing my job. We can, uh, head out and meet up with the, um, others, if you want.”

  
“Okay.”

They set out towards the chariots. Silence enveloping them like an old friend. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go! Another chapter up! I hope you enjoyed it and please drop a comment as they fuel my desire to be noticed.


End file.
